


All else is poor Translation

by The_Dancing_Walrus



Series: All else is poor translation [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Cultural Differences, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, Fisting, Interracial Relationship, Kink Negotiation, Language Barrier, Love, Marking, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rare Pairings, Romance, Spoilers, Sub Solas, Weird Elven Sexual Mores, bloodplay (discussed), lots of feelings, orlesians are kinky bastards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-22
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-27 14:17:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5051659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Dancing_Walrus/pseuds/The_Dancing_Walrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She didn’t look up, even when he put his arms around her and pulled her close. She closed her eyes as he whispered assurances in three languages and slowly she allowed herself to be convinced by them.</p><p>Although it wasn’t truly the words that soothed her. It was the weight and heat of his body pressed against hers. The worry and care in his tone. The gentleness and reverence of his hands on her skin and hair.</p><p>All else was poor translation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This follows on from 'Without Words' and it's about 70% porn. 
> 
> If you don't feel like reading the previous fic all you need to know is that the Warden sort of woke Solas up early and he was one of her companions during the Blight even though the poor sod couldn't understand a word anyone said. Thanks to the language barrier Leliana (and everyone else in the Warden's entourage) first knew him as 'Wolf'. 
> 
> And that I apparently like the sorts of pairings most people only think work as crack. 
> 
> Translations at the end. Updating Thursdays.

He takes the gloves from her and holds one, by the wrist, up to the light. It shines through, slightly yellowed by the material, highlighting each miniscule stitch.

 

It’s gurgut webbing, thin and tough and incredibly smooth. After a moment he nods.

 

“You’re sure?” She asks, more for herself than for him.

 

“Of course.” He smiles at her as he hands the gloves back. “How do you want me?”

 

-

 

For the first week or perhaps two she wasn’t entirely sure if Wolf- _Solas_ was flirting with her or trying to apologise. It was little things, things that Josephine would never have thought to do and Cassandra wouldn’t have known too.

 

She hadn’t the slightest idea where he was finding Andraste’s Grace in the mountains but Leliana found a few flowers in the tent next to the Requisition Officer’s every morning.

 

And it-

 

On some days, when her grief was greater than her anger, she felt she didn’t deserve it. Not after she’d told Cassandra what he was and as much as she can piece together of what happened at the Conclave.

 

(Later, when he finally confesses the Anchor’s purpose and what exactly he’d been planning to use the orb for, she wonders why she wasted energy feeling unworthy. She knew from the beginning that they were both flawed.)

 

-

 

The flowers stopped after he walked in on her furious parody of prayer. And she’d turned on him, demanded answers he didn’t have.

 

Cassandra would have talked about faith.

 

The Hero of Ferelden would have told her to turn her anger towards finding Justinia’s killers.

 

Wolf, _Solas_ -

 

His face set and he told her that if she couldn’t put regret aside she’d hate herself for the rest of her days.

 

She was still watching the place he’d been standing when the Herald came to find her.

 

-

 

He didn’t give her flowers but-

 

He left her an ornament. A small round bone. A knee cap. At first she thought it was carved. But the edges of the engraving were smooth, even in the places a file couldn’t reach.

 

(She’d ask Cassandra later and find that he did it with fire he conjured. Which was somewhat less surprising than the revelation that Cassandra helped-)

 

A bone bearing the Chantry’s sun. Except it wasn’t quite right, like a child’s first letters when they could see something of the shape but not the meaning, the weight, behind it.

 

She picked it up and saw Justinia, tall and regal and _alive._ Saw her kindness and compassion and unyielding resolve to make the world _better_. Heard her voice singing the Chant and her preaching the worth of _all_ the Maker’s children-

 

Leliana dropped the gift on to the packed earth of the tent.

 

She tore across Haven without a thought and found him near the apothecary.

 

She wanted to strike him but all those years playing the Game stilled her hand because his ears are pointed, his figure is lithe and it was _unseemly_ even in Orlais to strike servants.

 

She wanted to scream but the Divine’s Left Hand, the Spymaster of the newborn Inquisition, the Nightingale could never afford to show that kind of weakness.

 

She pushed him back into the shadows between the cottages with a snarl and asked in a low, dangerous hiss what in the _Maker’s name_ he thought he was doing.

 

(The short answer was that captured memories were part of a traditional Elven funeral that he meant to offer her comfort-)

 

But Justinia was a raw wound in her heart that he had no right to stick his fingers into it and twist. Whatever they were-

 

Because it _hurt_ -

 

When she ran out of words he put his arms around her and pulled her close. Murmured ‘ir abelas’ until it felt like his heart was breaking on the shards of hers.

 

-

 

She ended up folding a handkerchief around the tiny memorial and putting it to one side. Untouched it can do no harm.

 

Although sometimes she found herself taking it out just to see Justinia, to hear her voice.

 

And it helped-

 

-

 

It began to feel somewhat like the Maker was laughing at her expense: that after spending so long wishing they could converse freely she had come to the point where she couldn’t think of anything to say. With any of the others Leliana would likely have talked about Kallian Tabris and the Blight. Something old and shared and safe.

 

But with Wolf-

 

What point was there to talking about past adventures? He had been there and they had seen the same.

 

She hadn’t needed words to know that then, so why waste them now?

 

-

 

The Herald ordered her ( _ordered her!_ ) to spare a traitor and suddenly she had a topic of conversation.

 

“Solas,” She began and-

 

“Leliana.”

 

His accent crept back when he said her name. Which was not at all relevant-

 

“My agents are tracking a fugitive in the Hinterlands who the Herald _insists_ we bring back alive-”

 

He looked mildly curious but no more. And any of the others, even Cassandra, would have misunderstood her annoyance but Wolf played the same game once, she was sure.

 

“Locating one dreamer in the Fade is rarely successful.”

 

“And if you know where the person is physically?” She asked.

 

He gave her a small smile. “Do you want them incapacitated? Or are you hoping they’ll suffer an accident?”

 

She held his gaze for a moment and smiled back.

 

(It did waste time and agents tracking that traitor down. But they didn’t lose good, loyal people taking the bastard in. Instead her agents reported that he slept fitfully, woke shivering and sweating. And turned himself in to the Inquisition.)

 

-

 

After that it was easier.

 

They talked about the disparate group of people Adaar drew around her and compared them to Kallian’s band of followers-

 

(Cassandra to Sten. Varric and Sera to Zevran, although Leliana saw similarities with Alistair as well. Blackwall to Wynne. They ended up deciding the Iron Bull was most similar to Oghren. Which made Leliana laugh so hard her sides hurt and then feel a small stab of guilt when she saw the poor man the next day-)

 

They talked about philosophy. They talked about the Fade.

 

(She saw him, sometimes, in her dreams. Had half-remembered conversations with wisps and spirits.)

 

They talked about the Alienages and Mage Rights.

 

(And how long had it been since she’d last spoken to someone more interested in how best to fix the world than who was most to blame?)

 

Occasionally Leliana talked to him about specific problems facing the Inquisition.

 

Which was not a particularly private or intimate thing, she spoke with Josephine, Cullen, Cassandra and Adaar about her work but-

 

But Wolf _understood_. Cullen lacked the flexibility, the finesse. Josephine lacked the ability to sacrifice and Cassandra seemed to wish the world would stand still; seeing its petty atrocities as the whole instead of symptoms of a rotting foundation.

 

Adaar flinched.

 

Wolf understood. Saw the Game for the barbarity that it was and played because wielded well it could still transform the world like nothing else. Learnt to take joy in it, even at its most ruthless, the joy of an instrument well played, a tool masterfully used-

 

She had lost before, of course, everyone did and it was simple to forget the small trifling losses.

 

When Leliana thought of losing she thought of Marjolaine. And sometimes when she looked at Solas she thought he understood that too.

 

-

 

There was something pleasant in circling each other. Not a distraction from duty precisely but a…release.

 

Sharing stories somehow felt like a promise of things to come.

 

-

 

Adaar marched out of Redcliffe the remnants of the Circles behind her and Leliana hid her smile on hearing they had been offered sanctuary, dignity, respect.

 

Showing too much support for the Herald’s decision in front of Cullen and Cassandra would have been unseemly. One did not flaunt a victory over friends.

 

They talked about practicalities. Supplies, housing, when and how to approach the Breach. Cassandra raised concerns about the Tevinter mage who had joined them and Leliana set the relevant inquiries in motion-

 

She didn’t smile until much later, crossing Haven she picked out Wolf in the crowd. Their eyes only met for a moment and the grin that passed between them was fleeting.

 

But it was sweeter than any words could have been.

 

-

 

It worked-

 

The Breach was sealed.

 

The sky was whole, scarred but whole-

 

The Breach was sealed and Leliana had, perhaps, had slightly too many glasses of wine. But it was difficult not to get caught up in the celebrations. And it was easy to get swept away in the joy that had filled Haven beyond capacity, so that it seemed to seep into the air, its own rare kind of intoxicant-

 

Besides, Solas had had slightly too much to drink as well.

 

She could see it in the colour of his skin, the wideness of his eyes, the way his edges seemed to have softened just a little bit.

 

She could taste it on his tongue.

 

And she was not so drunk that she couldn’t hear her own doubts creeping in the back of her mind. It was irresponsible. It was too soon. She shouldn’t not with-

 

It would have been easy to persuade herself it was fanciful rubbish, that she shouldn’t fall so hard and so far after a handful of months.

 

But it hadn’t been a handful of months, silence and separation be damned they had waited ten years.

 

There was _nothing_ too fast or too soon about guiding him to the spot beside the Chantry, overgrown with pine and elfwood nor about the way he backed himself against the stone wall and pulled her close. There was nothing thoughtless or hurried about finally coming together. About trapping him against the Chantry. About kissing like they might never see each other again. About her hands stealing up his sides to map the muscles of his chest or his hands tangling in her hair.

 

He made small desperate sounds, half halted by her mouth and when she turned her attention from his lips to his neck he said her name like a prayer-

 

Which was when the alarm sounded.

 

They stood, frozen, for a moment before Solas muttered ‘fenedhis’ and Leliana gave in to the urge to laugh.

 

They slipped back out into Haven, heading in opposite directions.

 

Corypheus had brought his army of twisted Templars right to their gates. Seeing it sobered Leliana faster than she’d thought possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Elven
> 
> Ir abelas- I'm sorry  
> Fenedhis- Swearword, currently without a canon translation


	2. Chapter 2

For several weeks they barely got the chance to speak. There was the attack and its aftermath, their refugees that had to be guided over the mountains. There was the trek to Skyhold and the repairs necessary to make it habitable.

 

And they’d lost all their supplies with Haven so there was the scramble to find anyone willing to cart food, clothing, weapons, up the slopes on poor or non-existent roads.

 

There was Adaar, now Inquisitor. The agents Leliana had lost track of after Haven vanished under rock and snow. The mess the attack had left of their diplomatic endeavours and the elements within the Chantry and nobility trying to take advantage of their sudden disappearance-

 

But she didn’t forget and neither did he.

 

-

 

“Solas.” She greeted, as if it was no surprise at all to find him in her room.

 

“Leliana.” He answered with a smile.

 

She wondered whether he’d climbed the stairs, past all her agents, the mages, the researchers or stolen silently over the battlements. He was observant, he was clever; so he must have been able to guess that pairings like theirs were not….commonly accepted.

 

She wasn’t entirely sure whether that would make him more inclined to hide their affair or announce it to the entire keep.

 

“We were interrupted.” He observed after a moment.

 

“Quite rudely.” Leliana agreed.

 

His gaze flitted from her face to the floor to the three slim volumes of folk tales on her dresser. She wondered if it cost him as much effort to show such openness as it did her-

 

“Did you wish to continue?” He asked quietly.

 

She’d wanted him since they’d staggered out of Orzammar, since they’d sat learning each other’s languages on the shores of Lake Calenhad, since he’d smiled at an abomination and cleaved the demon from the child.

 

“Do you?”

 

“Yes.” Wolf answered, soft but insistent.

 

“We are likely to encounter some strong opposition.” Leliana warned, because it was better to be sure he knew. “It might be somewhat scandalous-”

 

“Len’alas.” He responded and while she wasn’t sure of the literal meaning she knew the intent. “To the Void with them.”

 

She smiled and Solas shook his head.

 

“You haven’t answered me-”

 

“Yes.”

 

-

 

He sat on the bed, head tilted slightly to one side and Leliana told herself that she wasn’t nervous at all.

 

“What are your preferences?”

 

“No insults.” She instructed. “And nothing that would be better left in the privy.”

 

It occurred to her, belatedly, that his people might have been (might be?) significantly less adventurous than the Orlesian nobility. She might have misunderstood the question. She might have just mentioned something that was taboo to him-

 

Wolf gave her a slight smile and inclined his head.

 

“No restraints. No magic.” He responded and then after a moments pause added. “Please don’t touch my feet.”

 

She half wanted to ask but she remembered enough of her own brief imprisonment and beatings to the sole not to take the risk. She told herself that he might simply be ticklish-

 

“No restraints?”

 

He shifted and glanced briefly away. “If you wish me to be still I will be. If you want me to behave as if I am restrained I will.”

 

That made her pause because Leliana had assumed- Though of course assumptions were rarely wise.

 

“You want me to lead?”

 

“Yes.” He replied.

 

“I-” She began and he stiffened.

 

Leliana sighed. How in the Maker’s name did you explain-

 

“I am not refusing. But- It’s just that-”

 

Solas was watching her carefully, his face schooled blank and his posture relaxed again. She took a deep breath, stilled her hands and sat next to him on the bed.

 

“Kallian told me once that…I saw elves differently. And that in Orlais- that I made it sound as though your people were pets.”

 

“If I believed you thought me an animal I would not be here.” He said softly.

 

“That isn’t-” She stopped, breathed and began again. “I don’t want to hurt you-”

 

“You do realise that I am not from an Alienage?” Solas interrupted. “I am aware of what your people have done to mine but I have not directly experienced it.”

 

“I know-”

 

“And I had a greater hand in creating…this than you. Even if it was not my intention.”

 

So she had been right. The part of her that Marjolaine had made slotted that tiny piece of confirmation away, compared it to what else she knew, wondered what precisely he had done-

 

It made her feel a little ill. Even now she couldn’t stop being the Nightingale.

 

He reached across and laced his fingers with hers.

 

“If you don’t want-”

 

“No,” Leliana interrupted. “It’s not that.”

 

“If another time would-”

 

“No.” She insisted.

 

She wanted to be better than the nobles and chevaliers using the kitchen staff they’d happily discard in the name of the Great Game.

 

But the comparison was false and an insult to both of them.

 

Neither of them were innocent, naïve or weak. And that did not make them the kind of heartless, entitled aristocrats who treated their people as worthless pawns.

 

Wolf cared, about people, about suffering, about the state of the world: she’d known that, recognised it, before they could share a dozen words. And he had blood on his hands. Just as she did.

 

It was what made him perfect.

 

Her grip on his fingers tightened and she twisted enough to grasp the back of his neck and pull him close. She forced her tongue into his mouth, shifted just so to push him back and down into the bed.

 

He yielded as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She kissed him until he was gasping before pulling back to sit on her heels. It was certainly gratifying, looking down on him like this. Not just the slight flush in his cheeks but his expression: the way he looked, for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure where he was or why. As if she’d chased away everything else and all he was thinking about was why she’d stopped kissing him.

 

Leliana smiled. Watched as he came back to himself and frowned up at her. It was the kind of face he’d made at Zevran’s attempts at sign language. It made Leliana want to giggle.

 

Instead she tapped her fingers against the bone necklace he hadn’t taken off since he’d reappeared.

 

“Did you want to keep this on?”

 

“No.” Solas murmured and raised his head so that she could remove it more easily.

 

She shifted, climbing off him to place it on top of the books beside her bed. He didn’t move until she was straddling his hips again.

 

“Do you have a watchword?” She enquired.

 

“A-?” From the look on his face it seemed he’d not encountered the term before.

 

“A word used as a signal, if you want me to stop.”

 

And there was another expression she recognised. The one that she’d earned for attempting to explain the Chant, shoes and Ferelden ale. The one that meant the world had become ridiculously bizarre and he wasn’t going to attempt to understand the inexplicable.

 

“Stop?”

 

Well, it would serve for now at least. So long as she was careful.

 

She could always tell him what a reckless fool he was later.

 

At the moment removing his clothing seemed a more pressing concern.

 

She didn’t precisely struggle with his belt but removing it was rather less graceful than she’d wished. She paused to tug off her gloves and coat not paying the least bit of attention to where they fell. His hands ghosted from her hips to the base of her ribcage and down again, quick and careful. As if he wasn’t quite sure what he was allowed to touch.

 

She took what was perhaps an overeager handful of his tunic and undershirt pushing them both up and off at the same time which seemed like a brilliant idea until the rolled cloth bunched and caught at his shoulders. They struggled with it for a moment, both apparently having very different ideas about how best to remove it. And then-

 

The sight of him did not leave her breathless, she was not a girl any longer and she’d seen beautiful men before. But she hadn’t felt this strange familiarity before, as though she already knew intimately something she’d never had-

 

His body was impossibly familiar, the Blight was written over him as it was over her. The small nick high up on his right shoulder was one of Zevran’s arrows. The line skimming his ribs on his left side was a duster’s knife in Orzammar. The small, jagged pucker of flesh marring his left collar bone was one of Marjolaine’s arrows and he had tugged it out and healed the hole as they’d fought-

 

There would be a splash of burn across his right shoulder blade, from the Revenant in Redcliffe Castle. And another on his left calf from Caladrius’ last futile attack.

 

He didn’t have a single mark she didn’t recognise and that felt just as significant as the way his eyes had blown wide and his mouth had fallen, just slightly, open-

 

She ran her hands over his chest because she could. Still lithe but more muscular than she’d imagined an elf could be. He had hard lines over his stomach and the part of her that was the Nightingale before Leliana noted that he must be far stronger than he looked-

 

He had less hair then a man, than a _human_ man, though there were still a few dark curls on his torso leading tantalisingly down-

 

She set about unlacing his trousers and his fingers skimmed the edge of her shirt.

 

“Are you going to take this off?” Wolf wondered.

 

“Perhaps,” Leliana smiled. “If you’re good.”

 

And that resulted in another expression she recognised; the one he’d given Kallian so often which meant he didn’t have to entirely understand to know he was being slandered. It made Leliana laugh and lean close to kiss him again.

 

There was something wonderfully addictive about kissing him and the small, desperate sounds it dragged out. It also served to distract him somewhat. At least until she’d wrenched his trousers open and pushed them down.

 

He might have gasped, it was hard to tell when her mouth was over his. He certainly squirmed. She put one hand and most of her weight on his shoulder to keep him down while she used the other hand to-

 

 _Maker_ she’d done little more than run her fingers over him and he _moaned_.

 

She pulled back to look at him, caught his face with both hands so he couldn’t look away.

 

“It’s…been quite some time.” Solas admitted.

 

“By my measure or-?”

 

“By mine.”

 

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know what he’d judge a long time.

 

“It doesn’t matter-”

 

“But I want-” He cut in haltingly, reached for her and did not quite touch. “If you would allow-”

 

It struck her as almost unbearably sweet, although telling him that would likely offend him.

 

So instead she sat back and untied her own trousers, tugged the top open and loose. She caught his hand-

 

He scrambled up into a sitting position as she pulled him closer and her free hand grasped his shoulder and found the edge of that burn. She left his hand at just the right place between her legs and leaned forwards. She couldn’t quite see his expression but it was much much easier to murmur instructions and encouragement in his ear.

 

( _Faster. Yes like that. No not there not yet. Not yet. Ah ah, now_ -)

 

She finished, straddling his lap, shuddering and smiling into the crook of his neck. And Solas was breathing every bit as hard as she was which only made her smile wider. She caught his wrist and pulled his hand away, ran her fingers up his thighs, over his hips, through the soft hair-

 

“ _Leliana-_ ” He gasped.

 

She pushed him gently and he fell back on to the mattress.

 

“Leliana-” He said again and this time it was definitely reproof.

 

“Patience.” She murmured, an instruction she was not sure it was possible to follow.

 

She pulled her shirt up over her head and it fell no where particularly important.

 

The way he stared at her looked almost like worship-

 

Then she took his cock in her hand and his breath caught around a loud, desperate ‘ _ah_ ’-

 

She didn’t count her strokes but it didn’t take many at all until he was coming, back arched, head thrown back-

 

He collapsed into her bed, his limbs too loose, his expression too soft and his eyes still blown too wide. He looked-

 

He looked as if he thought she was the most wonderful, impossible thing in two worlds.

 

Leliana leaned down to plant a single chaste kiss against his parted lips.

 

“Emma lath, ma da’fen.” She murmured and he looked briefly, unbearably sad.

 

“Ma vhenan.” He replied in a whisper and-

 

It occurred to Leliana that the man beneath her had lived a thousand years and more, thought of a decade the way she might consider a week-

 

And he loved her.

 

Was it any wonder he said it as if it was a death sentence?

 

She gave him another quick kiss and straightened, smiled.

 

“Would you like my help cleaning up?”

 

-

 

She wasn’t sure how long they spent in bed afterwards, probably too long considering the hour of the day but-

 

It was wonderful, finally feeling able to touch each other. To be able to trace the lines of his scars and the planes of his muscles.

 

And she probably shouldn’t have been comparing his body to human men but-

 

“What, exactly,” Solas asked in an exasperated huff. “Makes my ears so fascinating?”

 

“They’re charming.” Leliana replied and Wolf made a noise that communicated his disbelief far more effectively than words.

 

She smiled and ran her fingers over the point of one again, around and down towards the lobe. They were ever so slightly thicker than human ears, as if there was more cartilage and now she thought about it she had never seen an elf wear earrings.

 

“Are they sensitive?” Leliana wondered, rubbing the back of one with her fingers.

 

“They’re _ears_.” Wolf answered in a tone that suggested she’d missed a rather central point.

 

“Yes,” She continued patiently. “But I heard once that-”

 

“They’re _ears_.” He repeated before turning his head to bury the one she’d been fondling in the pillows.

 

It made her laugh a little.

 

“You certainly seem remarkably sensitive about them.” She teased. “Are you going to add that to your list, hmmm? Am I banned from touching your ears?”

 

“I’m certainly considering it.” Solas replied.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Elvhen
> 
> Len'alas- Literally 'dirt children'  
> Emma lath- 'I love you'  
> ma da’fen- 'My little wolf'  
> Ma vhenan- 'My heart'


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the kink you've been waiting for. :D
> 
> Updated a little early, got work tomorrow morning. I'd advise reading the notes at the bottom both for translations of Elven and some explanation of what I've padded it out with.

He likes being penetrated and the discovery shouldn’t have surprised her and certainly shouldn’t have given her an illicit little thrill. It was the casual way he’d asked her for it, not at all like the tiresome circling of Orlesian men who always seemed to half frame the request with threats should she reveal their perversity or insulting ‘reassurances’ that they would not rather be with a man.

 

In Orlais it might have indicated a…deeper sort of trust but that was not why Solas was so…straightforward about it. A few minutes of conversation convinced her that his people simply hadn’t seen the act as particularly deviant. He had never learnt the taboo.

 

(Leliana did try to explain it when he asked but suspected that all she’d done was convince him that most humans had no idea how to have sex _properly_ -)

 

It was not anything….special or unusual to him. The Game was not a factor in their dalliance and if it had been _she_ would be the one fearing scandal not Wolf but-

 

“You are far too enthusiastic about this.” He observed, perhaps because she’d been grinning like a maniac since he’d asked.

 

But he didn’t object.

 

She crossed his hands over his chest, with one of her own splayed over his wrists to remind him to keep them there.

 

She only worked a single finger inside him but she was still an archer and she had very strong hands. She could, if she wished, apply an utterly relentless pressure and rhythm to the sensitive places inside a man with the curl of a finger, the twist of her wrist.

 

He cursed softly and bucked, rolling his hips towards her hand.

 

She didn’t stop until he was red and breathless, panting out broken, incomprehensible Elven.

 

-

 

He started sleeping in her room, in her bed. Not just for a few hours after they’d been intimate but every night.

 

And Leliana wondered why he hadn’t moved any of his things up into the tower until she realised the battered staff and single change of clothes were all he owned.

 

-

 

They spoke his language together sometimes. She had a somewhat better grasp of it then most but then the Dalish did not have the chance to learn from a native speaker-

 

And this too was familiar; so much of the first months after he woke had been taken up with this exchange. Trading languages, word by word.

 

She hadn’t expected him to teach her their writing but it seemed to be another gift and Leliana accepted it as such.

 

The letters were strange curling things, more suited to a brush than a pen. And they didn’t correspond directly to the alphabet she was used to, too many symbols for consonants that don’t exist in Common, single symbols for letters strung together, subtle vowels half hidden in the base letter.

 

It was an exercise in frustration, relieved somewhat by Wolf’s hand over hers on the pen in the small hours-

 

He guided her through two, no one word the dash linked the letters together and the loop in the middle killed the automatic vowel and replaced it with another. Four letters strung together in a pattern she didn’t recognise.

 

“Kaleh’pasee?”

 

“Kala’pashi.” He corrected.

 

He didn’t explain further but often their words were compounds, smaller words strung together and the prefix was not quite correct for ‘dark’ but the ending-

 

“A kind of bird?” Leliana guessed. “A-”

 

“Nightingale.”

 

-

 

Except, as they discovered several days later, it was not. Because Solas had taken the Common too literally. And Common’s ‘night singer’ was not the same creature as the Elven ‘dark and cunning bird’.

 

A raven is not a nightingale.

 

He seemed almost offended by it, that they should name Leliana for something small and harmless and pretty. As if she were merely her voice.

 

“Kala’pashi suits you better.” Wolf said and she couldn’t disagree.

 

-

 

She asked for his mouth and noticed him hesitate. But then he was sliding down her body, kissing the inside of her thighs. She wondered briefly whether she should stop him, for the reassurance of a ‘yes’ if nothing else-

 

But his hands had curled around her thighs and the way he glanced up at her it made Leliana feel-

 

She shifted, crossing her feet over the small of his back and placed one hand, gentle but encouraging, on the back of his head.

 

“Well?”

 

He lowered his head and he had _certainly_ done this before, kissing, sucking, licking in all the right places. Neither shy nor teasing, just steady, lapping strokes that made her shudder.

 

But he’d hesitated. So she kept her hand at the back of his head, rubbing soothing circles just above his neck. She murmured encouragement, that he was doing _well_ , and he kept going at the same patient pace until her legs were shaking. Until her hand fell from his neck, until it almost _hurt_ , until she had to ask him to stop-

 

And she would have called it wonderful if it wasn’t for the way he rose and moved away.

 

She watched, legs still trembling, as he washed his mouth again and again.

 

But eventually he returned, settled beside her and allowed her to pull him closer still.

 

“You don’t enjoy that.” Leliana stated.

 

He turned to bury his face further into her neck.

 

“Solas-”

 

“No.” He admitted. “But you did.”

 

She sighed, ran her fingers around the burn on his shoulder. “You didn’t have to-”

 

“I know.” He interrupted softly and she sighed again.

 

After a moment his hand curled over hers and their fingers twined together.

 

“I’m not sure I want to ask you for something you dislike.”

 

She felt his shoulder move in a shrug she couldn’t really see.

 

“I don’t mind. So long as it’s not….often.”

 

She turned to give him an incredulous look and Wolf smiled at her and-

 

“I’ll make it up to you.” Leliana promised.

 

-

 

She found out later that it was considered unclean by his people. He’d tried to explain it and this must have been how he’d felt when she’d tried to explain Orlesian taboos-

 

Maker, she was almost thankful; at least her culture wasn’t the only one that made no sense.

 

-

 

She suspected they had taboos concerning marks as well but that at least Wolf seemed to enjoy breaking.

 

She’d had him on her lap, his hands crossed on his chest with one of hers splayed over his wrists and two fingers inside him. He was breathing too fast but not quite at the point where he would crack enough to ask for release. And Leliana had bowed her head to leave a trail of kisses along his shoulder, whispered endearments and encouragement in his language-

 

Until Solas let out a small breathless laugh and repeated her words.

 

Her grip on his wrists tightened.

 

“Are you correcting my pronunciation?” Leliana enquired in tone that implied there was no good answer.

 

He managed another breathless laugh and she planted a gentle kiss at the point between his shoulder and his neck. Then she bit down. Hard.

 

He spasmed in her grasp, writhing and panting out desperate half-formed pleas.

 

He came with barely more than a single stroke.

 

And her teeth left a large red mark like a standard against his pale skin.

 

He kept touching it. His fingers drifting to it again and again over the course of the evening in a way that made Leliana murmur, perhaps thoughtlessly, that she’d have to mark him again.

 

Which made him _shiver_.

 

-

 

Of course she hadn’t expected him to take it quite so far-

 

Except that it was Wolf and she was beginning to suspect that he thought limitations were something that happened to other people.

 

She took the knife from his hands and tried not to think about his hopeful expression when her stomach was plummeting-

 

It was a small, clean implement. A curved blade no longer than her smallest finger, sharp on one side and gleaming. A bloodletting tool, she suspected and wondered idly where he had found it.

 

It was a beautiful little knife and-

 

And if she allowed herself she could picture running it along his skin, sinking it into his flesh.

 

She could see the way he would try, so hard, to stay still for her. The trickle of blood, bright and fresh, a vivid scarlet against his perfect, pale chest. The dark, crusted marks the next day. The way they’d heal, a gentle pink with the slight shine of scar tissue.

 

She had more than enough Elven to make use of. She could leave claims and promises all over his slender torso in curving letters only the two of them would understand.

 

It made her mouth dry and her insides deliciously tight and Leliana had no idea whether it was _that_ or the image of him bleeding under her hand that truly made her feel sick.

 

It was-

 

And he looked so _hopeful-_

 

Because it wasn’t just the act he was asking for or the marks it would leave behind. This was trust.

 

“Ir abelas,” Leliana murmured and she put the knife down.

 

She knew that she should look at him and found she couldn’t. She couldn’t bear to see disappointment there.

 

“I- I can’t,” And she sounded desperate, sounded heartbroken- “Ir abelas,”

 

Makers breath how had she fallen so far? How had _they_ fallen so far? That he would ask her to take his life in her hands and she would shake at the thought of what refusing might mean-

 

She didn’t look up, even when he put his arms around her and pulled her close. She closed her eyes as he whispered assurances in three languages and slowly she allowed herself to be convinced by them.

 

Although it wasn’t truly the words that soothed her: not layered, poetic Elven, practical straightforward Common or musical Orlesian. It was the weight and heat of his body pressed against hers. The worry and care in his tone. The gentleness and reverence of his hands on her skin and hair.

 

All else was poor translation.

 

-

 

The gloves were tight against her hands, as if they were fighting to replace her skin. It was…somewhat uncomfortable but Leliana has archer’s hands, calloused, nails and skin ragged in a thousand places so the gloves were necessary-

 

 _Maker’s breath_ she could scarcely believe that they were truly, that they were actually-

 

She glanced across and Solas was on her bed, naked and spread eagled almost exactly as she had imagined and-

 

It was real. The man on her bed was real and he loved her and he was willing, he _wanted_ her to do this-

 

In its own way that was almost as frightening as the Archdemon.

 

She took a long, deep breath, as if the air was a steadying draft of strong wine. Then she set about applying the thick mixture of fats and oils to one glove with a focus she usually reserved for small, mobile targets.

 

“You’re nervous.” Solas observed and the interruption almost made her start.

 

“And you are remarkably at ease.”

 

She didn’t have to look at him to know he smiled; it was in the tone of his Elven when he replied. And she understood the words, the literal meaning, but there was something else underneath them, a reference or a proverb she didn’t know enough to properly interpret.

 

He wasn’t actually talking about ravens.

 

Her gloves were covered and the jar was within reach in case she needed more. She was just putting off the moment when she would have to choose. To face him or back away.

 

“Why do you trust me?” Leliana enquired.

 

He shifted up on to his elbows giving her a bemused look.

 

“I could ask you the same question.” Wolf said, with a hint of a smile. “You know what I am. Do you realise how many of your people and mine would wish to kill me just for that?”

 

She climbed on to the bed with a sigh, kneeling between his legs and stroking one hand idly up his thigh. She didn’t want to wonder, now with Samson captured and the end in sight, whether he would vanish again or whether they might end up on opposite sides.

 

“You’re deflecting.” Leliana observed.

 

She’d one hand between his legs, one finger circling and then pushing gently into him and he was smiling at her properly now.

 

“As are you.”

 

Her finger sank into him slowly and she moved it gradually out then in again, readying him for the second-

 

And she knew it was the wrong time to ask, to push and yet-

 

“Why?”

 

“Ar lasa harellan, ma vhenan.” Wolf murmured and-

 

She pulled her hand back and leaned forward over him, close enough to feel his sharp breath as she eased a second finger in. She kissed him, a brief gentle touch to his lips.

 

“I thought I told you to lie flat?”

 

She felt rather than saw him grin and then he was lying back for her, his arms above his head.

 

“Good.” She murmured and settled lower, pushing at one of his shins so that he bent his knee.

 

“Do you think I’m wrong?” He wondered.

 

The touch of her free hand had left shining trails of oil along his thigh, she dragged a finger over them, transforming them from smears to swirls. It made the muscles across his stomach tighten.

 

“Often.” Leliana replied finally. “But not this time.”

 

She twisted her wrist, slowly, stretching him gently with her fingers and watched as his eyes fluttered briefly closed. She dragged her fingers in and out, soft, tender motions compared to their usual dalliances. But then usually they weren’t planning to-

 

He made a low, pleased noise as she moved her fingers apart, together, as she eased them smoothly out to the first knuckle and then gradually back adding another. She’d three fingers inside him and she did not pause precisely, only slowed, but-

 

“Are you sure you want to go further?” She asked, sitting up enough so that she could see his face properly, so that she could be sure-

 

Solas opened his eyes just to roll them at her.

 

“No of course I am not sure,” He announced sarcastically. “After all this is not the ninth time you’ve asked me and I certainly did not ask you to do this in the first place and I am a fickle, indecisive creature and Adaar is a dwarf in disguise and _AH fenedhis lasa Leliana-_ ”

 

She pressed a little harder just to hear him moan.

 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” She chided. “The Inquisitor is _several_ dwarves in disguise.”

 

He let out a soft, breathless laugh. “Of course-”

 

“At least four.” Leliana mused.

 

“Likely half the Carta-” He gasped making Leliana chuckle.

 

She moved her wrist, easing the pressure inside him and slowed the motion of her fingers once more. She gave him a moment to recover, enough time to plant a kiss on his knee.

 

“This- what you’ve asked me to do- it will hurt.”

 

“Yes,” Solas replied. “I imagine it will.”

 

“You _are_ sure?”

 

“Yes,” He murmured caught her gaze and held it. “Hurt me. Please.”

 

It should disturb her rather than light a fire in her belly. It should make her flinch the way Josephine would flinch from any of the dozen things Leliana had done for the Inquisiton that day. But it made her mouth go dry and her insides clench and she’d probably have fallen a little more in love with him if she weren’t already so deep she could drown.

 

“Maker’s breath, the things you say-”

 

“Emma lath, ma vhenan, ma sa’lath, ma kala’pashi-”

 

She laughed softly, trailed kisses from his knee along his thigh.

 

“You mad, shameless _man-_ ”

 

“I’m sure,” He panted as she stretched her fingers. “You have been _ah_ -accused of similar failings-”

 

“Shush.” Leliana murmured and eased her last finger inside.

 

He drew a long shaky breath. Her free hand curled around his thigh, stroked the outside of his hips as she whispered soft, comforting nonsense. She’d have to be slower now, careful-

 

From that point it became a series of gradual advances and gentle retreats. Tender rocking motions with her thumb tucked in tight to her palm and soft words, that he was so good, so beautiful-

 

He was breathing in ragged gasps, his hands grasping at the sheets, jerking down and then back to where she’d instructed him to keep them. Leliana ran her free hand across his chest, soothing, telling him how very good he was being and that she knew he could keep his hands up there. For her.

 

His head rolled from one side to the other, bitten off moans and small desperate whines tearing their way out of him between breaths. And she ran her hand down his chest, turned her head to kiss his knee, assured him again that he was beautiful, so beautiful-

 

He let out a small choked sound and started to cry.

 

Leliana stopped.

 

Tears trailed down across his face in a steady stream making his fast uneven breathing sound wet and broken.

 

“Fen-?”

 

He begged her in three languages not to stop. So she rocked her hand again, a fraction of a fraction of an inch further and watched as he broke enough to keen.

 

Slowly, so slowly, she pressed on their words jumbling together as she soothed and he pleaded until her whole hand was inside him. Vanished to the wrist. Somehow, together, they’d coaxed his body into doing something impossible.

 

She wanted to kiss the tears from his cheeks but there was no way to reach without suddenly twisting her hand. So she tried to do it with her words, with praise and endearments and promises she wished desperately to keep.

 

She kept the movements of her hand small, tiny gradual twists and slight rocking motions, forward and back. Like this any small shift was seismic, she could see it in his trembling, hear it in the sounds she was tearing out of him.

 

Maker, she still wasn’t sure how either of them could do this.

 

After a while something shifted and, with a few whispered words, she started to ease out.

 

It took just as long as working her hand in had, though his moans, his cries came more easily. Fell from him with every gradual pull and shift.

 

And then, finally, she could ease her thumb free. Her fingers followed, a little at a time, until her hand was her own again. It ached, but that seemed irrelevant compared to-

 

She reached down, with the other hand, the good hand, took his erection in a firm grip and stroked. His whole body shook as he finished, spilled over his chest, with a sound that might have been a scream if he’d had the breath for it.

 

Leliana straightened and stood.

 

She opened and closed her fist, worked her wrist in circles, trying to banish the pain in her palm, the prickling in her fingertips. After a moment she thought to remove the gloves-

 

She stood beside the bed, looking down.

 

Wolf looked utterly undone. Covered in sweat and the oil from her gloves and his own seed, his eyes half open and unfocused, a gentle pink flush over his face and chest-

 

And he shivered in the air. His breath shallow and shaky, his body loose but still arrayed as she’d told him to-

 

“You are wonderful.” She breathed and put a small, quick kiss on the centre of his forehead.

 

She wasn’t entirely sure if he heard.

 

He came back to himself gradually as she cleaned him, as she moved his limbs-

 

“Solas?”

 

“Mmmm?”

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“MMMMMMMMMMMmmmm.”

 

She chuckled, wiped the tear stains from his cheeks and kissed his eyelids.

 

“You are impossible.”

 

“So I’m told.”

 

“I love you.” She stated, in practical straightforward Common.

 

His hand, still trembling, fluttered the inch to hers and squeezed.

 

“And I you.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Elven writing on Devanagari script (standard for Sanskrit and Hindi languages) and some non-canon words on Hindi. I took some major liberties with both, partly because I can’t read/speak the relevant languages. I tend towards filling in gaps in DA Elven with Indian languages (mostly Sanskrit and Hindi) because I think some of the cultural concepts seem to fit well together. And the examples of Elven script in canon look far more like Devanagari than anything else to me. 
> 
> Relevant Elven
> 
> Kala’pashi- Raven, adjusted from Hindi, literally dark/cunning bird  
> Ir abelas- I’m sorry. Literally ‘my sorrow’  
> Ar lasa harellan ma vhenan- You, my heart, are [also] a trickster/traitor.  
> Fenedhis lasa- A worse variant of the common swearword ‘fenedhis’  
> Emma lath- My love  
> Ma vhenan- My heart  
> Ma sa’lath- My one [true?] love  
> Ma kala’pashi- My ‘nightingale’  
> Fen- wolf
> 
> From Hindi
> 
> Paksi- Bird  
> Calaka- Cunning  
> Kali- Black/dark


	4. Epilogue

He confessed everything, sitting beside her in a secluded grove, one hand over hers.

 

He talked about their empire and the way it had fallen apart, about monstrous cruelties and the people who had claimed to be gods. And how everything he’d done had seemed too little too late.

 

He talked about the Veil he’d drawn down over the world and how killing his people’s culture had been the only way he could break their chains.

 

He talked about how the world seemed Tranquil, how the Veil continued to hurt both worlds and it had to be destroyed.

 

It had to.

 

Leliana listened and when he ran out of words she pulled him close until they were breathing the same air.

 

“You won’t do it.” She murmured finally and felt him stiffen in her arms.

 

“You think so?” The Dread Wolf asked and his voice was all sharp edges.

 

“Yes.”

 

“Why?”

 

Leliana sighed. “Tabris. Adaar. You can’t tell me you don’t see value in the people here, now, and you can’t pretend you want to hurt them, to kill them-”

 

“You don’t _understand-_ ” He growled.

 

“But I do. You’ve said it yourself we are…similar. You tell yourself that it’s a necessary sacrifice, for a better future, a better world. But you know how much it would destroy-” She sighed. “There are a hundred times Tabris and Adaar could have killed countries and each time they found a better way-”

 

“What if there _is_ no better way?”

 

“There _is_.” She insisted. “Always. The Maker would not allow it to be otherwise.”

 

“I do not have your faith, Nightingale.” He answered his voice flat.

 

And she knew that was true in a sense but-

 

“You told me once you have faith in people. Would you truly wipe them away? You’ve barely been among them a moment and you’d judge they aren’t worthy of life?”

 

“That is not-” He snapped but she spoke over him.

 

“You can’t tell me you see no worth in this world. As it is now.”

 

And he was silent which was answer enough. Perhaps not for anyone else but she’d spent a long Blighted year listening for the words he couldn’t say.

 

“You won’t do it.” Leliana stated and he jerked out of her grasp.

 

“I _will_.”

 

“Liar.”

 

He stormed off towards Skyhold and Leliana sat back on the bench with a sigh. If she closed her eyes, breathed slowly, she could almost imagine that she could feel the thinness of the Veil around her-

 

Like a gentle breeze toying with her hair.

 

-

 

The orb broke in Corypheus’ hands. Wolf vanished once more.

 

And she waited.

 

-

 

He was gone two weeks then blazed back into the Keep, into the Tower, so incensed she was half surprised his path wasn’t lined with Rage demons-

 

“You were _right_.” He spat and she pulled him close once more, rubbed her hands along his back for what seemed like an Age until finally, finally, he relaxed into her arms.

 

“Void take you,” He murmured in his own tongue. “You’re right.”

 

“We will find another way.” She promised in a whisper.

 

Solas sagged against her and eventually his arms closed around her, his hand came up to tangle in her hair.

 

“Ma nuvenin.” He said softly and-

 

She wasn’t sure he believed her yet. He did not have faith. But Leliana did. The Maker had given them Tabris to bring down the Archdemon, Adaar to seal the sky, had shown her a perfect rose in the middle of the Blight’s destruction and brought her lover back to her when Justinia fell.

 

They would find a better way. She had faith and, strange as it might seem, she had love.

 

It was enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relevant Elven
> 
> Ma nuvenin- As you say


End file.
